The God of War
by Lord of Beasts
Summary: Thrown into the Cycle of Reincarnation, he closes his eyes as Harry James Potter and wakes as the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, Orys Baratheon, son of Robert Baratheon and the late Lyanna Stark. With all his memories intact, Harry thought that this second life would be a breeze. If only he knew..
1. Prologue

**G.O.W**

 **Disclaimer:** Everything except the divergent Plot Line and a few O/C's belong to G.R.R Martin.

* * *

"Enough Tom, it's time we end this! _Fulguris!_ " Harry snarled, a bolt of lightning shooting out from his wand, only to slam harmlessly against the Dark Lord's powerful shield charm.

This was it, the final confrontation between Light and Dark. Harry was prepared to die, shooting spell after spell, uncaring of his quickly dwindling magical core. He couldn't afford to hold back or fight with cunning. Brute strength was all he knew, the disadvantage Voldemort unknowingly placed upon himself when he took Harry's blood into his body was making itself known quickly.

Any spells the Dark Lord used would no doubt harm him, but it would never kill him, no - only the Killing Curse could finish the job, and even the Strongest Dark Lord in recent memory couldn't fire it off continuously.

"Don't be foolish Harry! I will give you this one last chance to surrender, bare your neck and no more magical blood will be shed!" Voldemort cried out, batting away Harry's stunning spell and flicking his wand, sending a bright blue light to the side. Harry merely ignored the strange action, not willing to shift his attention from his opponent.

"Enough blood has _been_ shed - by you! _Sectumsempra!_ " Harry screamed, anger fueling the dark curse, giving it an extra kick. The cutting curse managed to cut Voldemort on the knees, making the Dark Lord drop ungracefully.

Quickly taking advantage, Harry made to cast a disarming spell when something smashed into the back of his legs, dropping him on the spot. The boy-who-lived landed harshly on his knees, scrapping the skin below the denim jeans.

'That light just now!' Harry cursed in his head. It was a technique only duelists of the highest caliber used, to curve a spell, and Harry had fallen for it like an amateur. Both his legs were now mangled horribly, he couldn't feel anything from the waist down anymore.

With a pained grunt, Harry pushed himself upwards on his hands, looking into the eyes of his greatest enemy, who was also on his knees not a few feet away from him.

The two stared, eye to eye for a few moments, keeping silent. Green met Red, Light met Dark - and with an unspoken signal, both of them snapped their wands forward, casting their final spells in tandem.

Again, Green met Red once more, the two spells crashing into one another in the middle, creating a devastating whip of fiery magic that made the ground hiss as it melt from the essence.

Harry could feel himself waning, dark spots dotted his vision, yet he knew he couldn't yield, he must kill this man before him. For neither can live while the other survive.

Then out of a sudden, Harry felt Voldemort's Killing Curse dissipate, the man in question gasped in horror, looking like his doom had appeared right before his eyes.

Making use of the unexpected opening, Harry quickly cast the disarming spell, and was surprised to see it actually worked. The Wand of Destiny flew through the air and toward him. Harry easily caught it in his hands, and when he looked back, Voldemort was already disintegrating into the winds. Harry didn't know what happened, but somehow somebody had killed the last Hocrux, allowing Harry to fulfill his destiny.

The war was finally over.

After months, nay _years_ of fighting, Harry had finally fulfilled the prophecy. Voldemort was defeated by his own hand, the vile wizard's ashes scattered throughout world.

Harry was tired, he could feel in his bones, his very magical core, the heart of his magic was depleted almost completely. He'd dredged up every drop of strength he could call on to contest the Dark Lord's Killing curse. Harry's trembling hands were forced to let go of his two wands. The Holly and the Deathstick, which was now his by right.

'Not that any of it matters now.' he thought, grimacing. It was taking all he could to just stay conscious, he forced himself upright, steadying himself on his knees, wincing as he accidentally rubbed against an open wound on his thigh. His war-torn jeans were in a sad state, it probably matched the rest of him, Harry thought.

He could hear multiple footsteps converging on his location. Harry sighed, finally he could get some rest. The war was over and now it was time to start the rest of his life. Harry snorted, all his life his purpose was to kill Voldemort. Now that Ol' Tom kicked the bucket, Harry felt... empty of a sorts. Like he didn't know what else to do.

After months of fighting, _killing_ and torture, Harry was slowly finding his existence to be quite dull. His romance with Ginny had quickly burned out rather pathetically. He couldn't even be bothered with his best friends anymore. It was always fight after fight, and now after fighting his whole life. The thought of going back to being a normal student irked him somewhat.

"-harry! Harry look out! No!" a voice screamed, Harry recognized it. It was Ginny, she was warning him, but Harry was too weak. Forcing himself upright, Harry prepared to face this new threat, but could not force his body to move.

The next thing he knew, something shiny had pierced through his chest, from his back.

'Huh?' Harry thought dumbly as he stared at the now bloody blade of Gryffindoor. His trembling hands grabbed at the razor sharp metal as he fell face-first into the dirt. He tried to turn his head, to see which coward had stabbed him in the back but his injuries prevented him. Terrible Coughs wracked throughout as blood spluttered from his pale lips.

Harry cursed as his eyes closed and he breathed his last.

.

.

"Don't worry, you'll breathe again soon enough." a dark rich voice stated in amusement.

'What the hell?' Harry thought as he shot straight up. He gawked at the new location he was now in; King's Cross. His eyes scanned the environment for a few seconds before his eyes widened in terror. Looking down, Harry quickly patted himself, his jaws dropping in astonishment as the wound, _every_ wound actually was non-existent.

"Over here Harry." the same voice called out, making Harry spin so fast he looked akin to a blur.

His eyebrows slowly rose as he found himself staring at an unassuming middle-aged man dressed in a crisp Italian suit. The mysterious man was shorter than even him, held what seemed to be an expensive cane and funnily enough possessed a six-pound haircut. His face was gaunt, although it appeared to be the facial structure rather than lack of sleep and food.

"Err..." Harry muttered in confusion as he tried to figure out what exactly was happening.

"Right let's get this over with then, I assume you know where we are?" the man questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Harry opened his mouth to say King's Cross but stopped himself short. This place looked like an exact replica except that everything was white. Just like when he died the first time.

"I'm dead aren't I?" he sighed despondently.

"Very astute Mister Potter, it appears that you find yourself no longer among the living. We are now in a place called Limbo and I, am your guide." the man replied.

'Guide?' Harry thought to himself, weird, he expected something more... menacing?

"That is because I don't want another one running and screaming his head off Mister Potter, Death does not enjoy playing tag." he continued, not even bothered by the fact that he revealed he was reading Harry's mind.

" _You're_ the Grim Reaper? Er.. sorry then sir, I didn't mean any offence." Harry said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. Then suddenly, he remembered how he came to be here, and anger filled his features.

"Someone stabbed you in the back, yes and no, I can't tell you who so don't bother." the man quickly said, cutting Harry off.

Harry was incredulous, was he serious? Harry quickly grew annoyed. He had been treated like shit by his own family, almost been killed by a Dragon, Basilisk, Death Eaters, fought wars and stabbed to death before he even got laid. The least he could get was the name of his murderer! The coward had ruined everything for him! He had plans after the war! He was going to...he was going to travel the world..and..be an Auror and then... oh who the hell was he kidding. Harry had been absolutely prepared to die today. He couldn't really find it in himself to be angry that he actually did, just annoyed that he was stabbed in the back.

"What now?" Harry said, feeling lost.

"You will be reborn." the man - no, Death, simply said.

"I- I thought that...I mean, _why_?" Harry was stumped, he was prepared to go into the afterlife, to finally be reunited with his family!

"When you defeated Voldemort and took the final Hallows from him, you became the so called 'Master of Death' from that exact moment till you died. The Master of Death is just that. You cannot die, and so you will be thrown into the cycle of Reincarnation forever more, accompanied by your experiences from your previous lives until the end of times." Death droned on, as if he was reading from a script.

"Fortunately for you, I have authority to choose _when_ and _where_ you will go, so tally ho! Off to Westeros with you!" the man cried out with fake amusement and proceeded to snap his fingers. Harry felt a familiar tuck on his navel, his eyes widened in surprised and anger.

"W-wait! No wait! You motherfu-!" his screams of defiance echoed throughout King's Cross, the recipient of those screams merely stood there, examining his fingernails till the sounds completely disappeared.

"Such language is unbecoming of a prince you know." the entity said as it slowly disappeared into nothing.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes, only to close them as the bright rays of the sun shined into them. He felt lethargic and sore all over. His eyes blinked rapidly as they slowly got used to the light. Quickly scanning his surroundings, Harry was not pleased to find himself in an unfamiliar location. At first he thought that maybe he was back in Hogwarts, seeing as the environment was almost a replica, but then he remembered Death's last words.

'Bloody git! Where the hell did he send me! and why do my arms feel so weird!' he raged mentally as he tried to stretch his body. Harry brought his arms forward to crack them only to freeze up in utter shock.

Two chubby little _baby_ hands met his vision.

'What the fuck!' he tried to scream.

"Waaahhhh!" was what actually left his lips.

Sounds of panic came from outside the chambers and a young lady dressed in a drab, brownish medieval dress came running in. Harry on the other hand, was in the process of losing his mind. He thought he had gone insane, was this what Death meant when he was to be reborn? Harry didn't think he would literally be reincarnated. What sort of madness was this?

Here he was, in a fucking crib, swept away called 'Westeros' with no idea who where or what he was! The girl who just entered practically sprinted to his tiny crib, her red hair whipped about and her green eyes were wide with panic as she picked him up.

"There there little Prince, everything's fine now.." she cooed, stroking his cheeks and kissing him on the forehead. Harry just stared at the new arrival, completely transfixed upon her face. His cries of anger abruptly ended, his blue eyes also wide with shock.

'Mum!?' he screamed in his head. What the hell was going on here? Death had a lot to answer for! Who was this woman that looked exactly like Lily Potter? He had so many questions and only one person could answer them. Harry wasn't even sure how to get into contact with Death, he was completely stumped.

"See? Everything's fine now child, Anna's here, we're going to celebrate your first nameday tomorrow my Prince...-" the woman continued, rambling on, thinking that it was her voice that calmed the Prince down, which wasn't entirely untrue.

'Who the hell is Anna? Mum it's me! Harry!' the baby in questioned shouted, only to curse as a baby's cries escaped instead.

And so begins the tale of Crown Prince Orys Baratheon, formerly known as Harry Potter.

* * *

Robert Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm was having mixed feelings. Everyday he thought of his beloved wife Lyanna, whom had died of fever, alone in Dorne. How afraid must she have been. Kidnapped and separated from her child, all alone in a foreign land.

Robert growled menacingly in the Iron Throne, he wished Rhaegar Targaryen could be brought back to life, just so he could crush him again. That was what the fucker deserved for stealing his beloved. Robert was willing to let the incident at Harrenhall slide, he told himself the Crown Prince bestowing the title Queen of Love and Beauty to his wife was a compliment. He should have killed that damned Dragon right then and there.

Robert was saddened and enraged to hear his Good-Father and brother had been executed at the Mad King's orders. They were just as furious as he was at Rhaeger's unexpected crime. Robert himself had received the raven to halt his bannermen's rally and prostate himself before the King, to for his supposed crimes. It didn't take long for the sparks of a Rebellion to burst into a raging inferno.

Robert knew he had to kill the Targaryens if their family were to live in happiness and safety. Ned and Jon hadn't needed much convincing, the Tully's however had demanded an alliance through marriage. The Lannisters and the Ironborn kept silent, choosing to stay out of the conflict. Dorne had no choice in serving as the Mad King's personal cannon fodder. Robert didn't know what the hell the Tyrells were thinking, choosing to support a fucking Mad Ruler for a King.

The Rebellion lasted for a year, ending swiftly when Robert and the Crown's forces crashed against one another in at the Trident. He remembered clearly, his Warhammer smashing against that breastplate filled with those fucking rubies.

And now he was to marry Cersei Lannister, to thank her father for joining the Rebels at the very last minute and sacking the very city which was to be his Home as King. Robert wanted to take Tywin's head for himself when that damned Old Lion presented the bodies of mutilated _children_ to his new King, assuming it was a big fucking prize for a him! Robert almost puked at the sight of those tiny bodies cloaked in Lannister shrouds. That could have been his little Orys...

Damn Jon Arryn! Robert didn't want to marry anyone! If Lyanna couldn't be his Queen then no woman would. No one was good enough to replace her, especially some Westerlander woman whom was rejected by The Last Dragon. Already he received whispers through Varys, regarding plots to disinherit his first-born son, because apparently Orys was born _before_ he ascended to the throne.

They wanted his little Stag to be Lord Paramount of the Stormlands instead, inheriting what should have been his originally, and giving The Iron Throne to his next son with Cersei Lannister, who would be born as a Prince, to a Queen and a King. Hah! Simply fucking ridiculous! Orys would be a perfect King, the intermingling of Stark and Baratheon blood would give birth to the greatest Monarch in Westerosi History.

Ah... the thought of his beautiful son always brought a smile to Robert's face. Orys took after him in the most obvious of ways, the seed of Baratheon was strong after all. Robert only hoped that his mother's features would emerge when the boy grew up. The newly crowned King cursed the gods for taking his wife away from him, for taking his son's mother from him.

Robert was scared, he knew he couldn't raise a child all by himself, hell he was a grown man and he couldn't even take care of himself! The King sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. Lyanna would know what to do, she always did. He remembered the first time they met, she was only five-and ten, a bit younger than he was. Her fierce determination, her confidence, her fiery temper, Robert loved everything about her. He thanked the Seven that this beautiful girl would be his.

Robert remembered going horse-riding with his enchanting she-wolf of a wife. Lyanna rode like the wind, it was as if she was half-a horse herself. Robert never won their races, but when it came to hunting, it was there his skills outshined hers. It was during these adventures where the two truly grew close. Lyanna confessed that he wasn't what she expected. The Stark had thought that he would smother her, keeping her in a castle where she would be forced to be a mere high-born wife, sewing silks and taking care of the children, not being allowed to do whatever she wished.

His open-mindedness, kindness and charm was what made Lyanna fall in love with him, even when she knew that Robert would have a bastard born soon from a night with a serving maid in the Eyrie. She even said once that she would like to have the girl with them in Storm's End, to be raised with her father. She couldn't bear the thought of the baby being cast out, not even knowing her sire. He knew right then and there that Lyanna was the only woman for him.

Robert then quickly ended his time in the vale and with the blessings of Lord Rickard and Jon Arryn, they quickly married ahead of schedule in the Eyrie and within a few weeks, the couple were pleasantly surprised to learn about the gift blooming within Lyanna. Lyanna had originally wanted to name him Steffon, after Robert's deceased father but Robert insisted that he bore the name of their forefather Orys.

When he son finally came, Robert finally had everything he wanted in life.

Then everything went to shit.

He knew he shouldn't have gone to that fucking Tourney in Harrenhall. Lyanna was still weak from childbirth, her young body was strained terribly during childbirth, after all she was only six and ten. But the news that everyone would be there prompted Lyanna to convince her him to make the trip. She missed her brothers terribly and so, Robert caved and the family of three journeyed to the Cursed Castle.

Now he was King, but he had lost everything.

* * *

A/N: A strange twist in the Black Prince genre. Hope you enjoy!


	2. Greyjoy's Rebellion

**G.O.W**

 **Disclaimer:** Everything except the divergent Plot Line and a few O/C's belong to G.R.R Martin.

* * *

Young Orys Baratheon was a curious creature. He looked nothing like a nine-year-old should for one. The Crown Prince could be confused for being three and ten or even four at his size. Everyone got quite a bit of shock at seeing how quickly the Young Stag was growing. His azure-blue eyes twinkled whenever he spoke to another and the constant smile plastered to his face warmed everybody's hearts in the Red Keep - well, almost everybody.

Orys learned quickly that his Stepmother hated, nay - absolutely _loathed_ his very existence, almost as if he was standing in the way of everything she wanted. Well, one could argue that technically it was true, what with her own son being second in line but still, most people were astonished that the Queen would publicly show her hatred, uncaring of the consequences. The harsh glares, the sharp tongue and haughty remarks made at his expense were in large supply, always ready to be given at the drop of a hat.

Speaking of the boy-prince himself, Orys simply learned to live with it. He of course, had already gone through this whole amazing experience as Harry Potter for sixteen years.

As he walked slowly, taking his time to reach the training yard, Orys threw himself in deep thought, once again thinking about his almost-unreal situation. It was all too...easy he would say. One moment he died, and the next he was a new person. Well not really new, everything that was Harry Potter about him was definitely still there, only a tad bit muted, some, had been intensified, like his 'saving people thing' as Hermione so eloquently put it and of course, his temperament. Harry recently had begun developing problems with his anger, which was already bad enough in his previous life.

His father was dead set on the Baratheon-blood-fury theory, about how some members of the House would be cursed and blessed by the gods. Said Curse/Blessing allowing them to enter into an unnatural state of berserk that increased their strength exponentially in time of great fury. Orys had dismissed it as horse-shite at first but the soldiers and servants around the keep were adamant that it was true when he casually spoke to them about it.

Apparently his father was afflicted with it, rumors was that he personally killed fifty-men in every battle he took part in. That every time he personally led the charge, he would be consumed by this so called rage and his hammer would literally smash through bodies, tearing muscle and crushing bones with every swing. Every single man-at-arms swore it was true, their reasons being it was how he won every single battle during the Rebellion, all except one of course. Randyll Tarly must have been quite the fearsome general to halt the Stag King in his warpath of destruction, he thought.

Orys had to admit, even after ten years, his father - even though he was... well fatter, still looked like he could put on that armor and Warhammer anytime and lead an army. He knew his father liked, but absolutely hated being King, in the sense that he loved the power but detested the responsibilities that came with it. The Old man had already made up his mind to abdicate the Throne as soon as Orys turned eight-and ten.

It was recompense for apparently 'Keeping me up at night and making me clean your shit for years'. Orys grimaced, he loved the man like he loved James Potter, but by god he wanted to kick him in the balls sometimes. Hewas all he had left, excluding his Uncle and Cousins in the North and Stormlands. His mother was dead, kidnapped and left to die in Dorne by Rhaegar Targaryen.

Orys was beyond incensed when he learned of this. He once made the mistake of calling Cersei and Anna, 'Mum' only to be told off by one, and carefully rebuffed by the other. He remembered running to his father, demanding to know where his real mother was. He remembered the immense sadness that spontaneously appeared within his father at her mentioning. Anna his old maid had already moved out of the Red Keep a few months ago to move in with her new husband. They were living in relative comfort at Orys' command. He was thankful for her presence during his first few years, where she was practically a mother to him.

Orys didn't know whether to feel sad or thankful. He loved Lyanna, for being his mother, for loving him like Lily did. It was miserable, having to grow up once again without a mother but he'd already done this once before, for a whole seventeen-years before he died the first time. But wasn't it better to not truly know her, rather than having her and only to have her be taken away from him?

The Prince's slow steps came to a stop as he reached his destination. He sighed in resignation, realizing he was becoming more cynical by the day. He knew that this whole business had taken a large toll on him. Life as Harry Potter, loathed as he was to admit it was absolutely horrendous. He grew up abused by his own blood Aunt and Cousin. He was used, shunned and betrayed by the very people he was supposed to somehow 'save' in the Wizarding World.

The few true friends he had were all forced into the same cluster-fuck as him, and after all the struggle and pain he endured, somebody actually stabbed him in the fucking back, ending his life just like that. He wasn't sure who did it, only that a Gryffindoor killed him, seeing as the blade he was stabbed with could only be held by a House member.

"Isn't it too early for you to be murdering Squires?" a voice called out. It was rough and harsh, with a slight Westerlander accent. It was the Hound, Sandor Clegane who spoke to him from the side, away from the bustling of the training grounds. The Hound was towering, even more than his father, which made him one of the biggest men in Westeros, considering the Baratheon King was a six and a half foot tall monster of a man. Orys found himself quite liking the other man for his brazen honesty and his tendency to follow orders without question.

"I'm not going to murder anyone Clegane, just going to knock some heads. The hell you doing here anyway? You're supposed to be guarding the little brat aren't you?" said little brat was of course, his beloved little git of a half-brother Joffrey. He loved the little shit, but the three-yer-old was already displaying signs of being a psychopath, and Orys did not want to live with a Voldemort Jr. He still loved him though, and the little boy looked up and loved him in return. Orys could never imagine Voldemort loving someone, he shuddered in disgust at the thought.

"Kingslayer told me to fuck off." was the quick reply.

Orys laughed out loud, causing the Hound to groan in annoyance. Uncle Jaime could be a bit of an arsehole at times, but he was funny, and he liked to train with him every once in a while, just to show how far the Crown Prince was before he could even think of standing a chance.

Orys silently made his way to the Master-at-arms of the Red Keep, Ser Aron Santagar, keen to improve his spear technique when a random guard came sprinting toward him, looking like the hounds of hell were nipping at his arse. Clegane quickly got in between them, putting his arm forward and shoving the man back a few steps.

"The fuck you want?" the man growled low, no doubt eager to get his fill of violence for the day.

The man, who appeared to be a household guard ignored the Hound, addressing the Prince directly.

"Prince Orys! Your father demands your presence in the Small Council Room immediately! A country-wide crisis has been issued, the Ironborn have rebelled and invaded the mainland!" the man whispered harshly, side-stepping the hound to speak to him.

Orys' eyes widened in pure shock, before he knew it, he was already half-way to the Throne Room, the Guardsman and The Hound both on his heels.

* * *

Robert snarled, smashing his palms into the large-wooden carved Small-Council table.

" _King_ Balon!? King!? Have his senses taken leave of him! What fucking reasons could that Ironborn Cunt have to declare war on the continent!" Robert practically roared at his advisers. His eyes were bloodshot and a vein threatened to pop in his temple.

All of them were assembled, some of them running to make sure they weren't late, too afraid of the King's legendary temper. Jon Arryn, the Lord Hand was there, so was the Master of Ships, Lord Stannis Baratheon. The King's sibling stood on his immediate left, while the Hand sat on the right. The other Baratheon, Renly was far away in the Stormlands.

Opposite of Robert was the Lord-Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy, arguably the greatest Knight alive. With him was the Kingslayer Jaime Lannister, Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Arys Oakheart. Petyr 'Littlefinger' Baelish was there too, the usual, sarcastic and all-knowing smile not plastered on his face for once. Beside him was the spy of spies, Lord Varys the Spider. Even the Queen was in attendance, though she chose to stand.

"Your grace, it appears that Balon Greyjoy believes that the realm is still quite unstable after the Rebellion, and is confident that the Crown would not be able to call upon the aid of it's subjects for support." the Spider reported, his soft effeminate voice soothing, yet the message being delivered was anything but.

"Not stable? It's been ten fucking years! Now they've torched Lannisport! Slaughtered thousands of innocents!" Robert shouted, making a few occupants flinch.

It was at this moment the Crown Prince entered the room. His presence was met with mild surprise to some. Robert waved the boy to his side, the King forced himself to calm, not wanting his son to face his anger. The Hound, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there quickly closed the door before him to disappear elsewhere.

The Boy-Prince quickly dashed toward his father, his body positively bursting with curiosity and excitement.

"Is it true father? Are the Ironborn really attacking?" his asked quietly, uncaring of their big audience.

"Yes son. I know it all seems confusing to you, and loathe as I am to include you in this; as the future King, you could learn a lot from this meeting. So I need you to stand behind me and listen understand? Listen and learn as much as you can." Robert told him. The King had both hands on the boy's shoulders, his blue eyes staring deep into the other paid, as if trying to convey his emotions through eye-contact alone.

Orys merely nodded and obeyed. The boy quickly moved behind his father, finding himself directly in the Queen's line of sight, who unsurprisingly, looked like she wanted to throttle him.

"Call all of them, I want soldiers from every single Lord Paramount to be present when we tear down Pyke! Even Dorne will send men-at-arms, I don't care what excuses or reason they have, if they don't, declare them as traitors." Robert stated, making eye contact with every small council member.

It was truly a fearsome sight, seeing the King slowly reverting to his golden days. It was the way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he _thought_. Robert Baratheon was never meant to be a King, or even a Lord. The man, deep down to his core was an absolute and pure Warrior. It was only in the battlefield the true Robert would emerge, the man lived and breathed warfare, and it appeared that ten years of ruling had only managed to dull his edge slightly.

No one dared question his plans, they heard and obeyed, even those that detested him. Only Randyll Tarly had managed to defeat him once, now after ten years, there were no doubts that even the Lord of Horn Hill couldn't truly stop him again.

"Stannis, get the royal fleet, meet with the Redwyne's fleet and wait further instructions, you have full command. If an opportunity arises, you have the authority to move independently." Robert instructed, pleased to see the Master of Ships leave the room immediately to follow his command.

"Send a raven to Lord Stark, the Mallisters are slowly being starved and beaten, I want Ned and the Riverlords to break the siege quickly before we lose Seagard." Pycelle's old hand was trembling as he wrote down the details of the meeting. The King then continued making plans, making sure everything was in place and that every had their own jobs to do. Once in a while he would glance at his son, to make sure the boy was listening in.

"Barristan, Oakheart and Moore will follow me, the rest stay. I want everyone to -" Robert continued but was unexpectedly cut off by the Queen.

"What about my home? What about Casterly Rock!? You must send aid immediately, gather all your forces and then-" the Queen started ranting, drawing grimaces from all around, even her own brother.

"Quiet woman!" Robert roared at her, shutting the Queen up in an instant.

"This is a war council! You will speak when spoken to! Do you have any experience with Warfare? Ships and Logistics? No? Then stand still and be silent before I throw you out myself!" he shouted, uncaring of their gobsmacked audience. The King looked absolutely furious, he couldn't believe the Queen would presume to give orders on a topic of which she new nothing about.

The Kingslayer's hand subconsciously roamed toward the hilt of his sword, the gloved hand gripping it so tight that his leather gloves creaked, straining against the force. Others stayed silent as well, knowing it was not their place to interfere. The Queen if possible, managed to still look quite comely as her face went through different shades of red before storming off, unwilling to take the humiliation.

Orys groaned silently, knowing that he would have to deal with an even worse Cersei in the upcoming weeks. After the small incident, the King quickly dismissed everyone to do their jobs, stopping to give his son a kiss on the forehead before going off too.

The Crown Prince, having some experience with war knew what was about to happen. Although he couldn't help but think how pathetic the Blood-War was compared to the destruction and death that the two wars in his lifetime dealt. The war he won as Harry Potter was little more than brutal skirmishes in the span of months, close to a year. The only 'all-out' battle he participated in was the Battle of Hogwarts, even then the participants numbered less than a thousand, a paltry sum in contrast to the hundred thousands of men that went to war in Westeros.

He couldn't help but feel worried about his old man. Even if he was the Demon of the Trident, his father was still only a man. A stray arrow was all it took...

Steeling himself, Orys quickly went to his room to prepare for what he thought had to be done. Quickly running, the black-haired boy passed a few of the servants and Clegane before reaching his room. Entering it, the Prince rushed to his bed, where he proceeded to sit cross-legged.

Taking a deep breath, Orys tried once again to find his magical core. He was of course, surprised to learn that almost everyone in this world did not possess their own magical core, and that any magic they manipulated was the magic found in nature. The Magical beings who did, such as Dragons and the Children of the Forest had all died out, and with them, the decay of magic,

There were some who apparently are able to channel magic from the so called 'Deities' of Westeros. While he hadn't met anyone who had extraordinary abilities bestowed by The Seven, he knew of Red Priests and Priestesses of the Red God 'Rhllor' who were able to conjure flames and manipulate the shadows. Some could even bring the dead back to life!

He knew the Red Priest Thoros of Myr once tried to convince his father and him of the Red God's existence as the one true God. Orys remembered laughing in the man's face, after which he told him that the only god that was real was Death.

"Ah, it appears we have a little Faceless Man in the making." the man had said after that.

The Priest had also tried demonstrating his Lord's power by magically coating his sword in Wild-Fire. Orys had originally dismissed it as a lowly fire spell. Only later on would he remember that Thoros did not possess any innate magic. It was after this incident Orys started researching old tomes in the library, trying to find old records of shadowbinders and warlocks.

Orys was also planning to find more information on the House of Black and White, rumored to be the base of operations of the Almost-Mythical Faceless men. The comment made by the Red Priest had planted the idea in his head, that a certain git was actually these assassin's master.

'Aha!' he thought as he found the source of his magical power. It was still strong, stronger in fact. Orys found that it's capacity and strength had increased ten-fold after his reincarnation. He still had a bit of trouble actually using it without a wand, but he was steadily getting better. He was glad that no one knew of his magic, the boy-prince opting to keep it to himself for the time being. It could be the Salem Witch Trials all over again if the wrong people found out.

Eyes snapping open, Orys snapped his fingers; followed by a surge of magic, a blazing fire appeared out of thin air, the size of a horse. The Prince's eyes flashed blue and slowly, the burning element morphed into a dragon. Orys grinned viciously and waved the fire away. He couldn't summon lightning or cast _Fiendfyre_ yet, but it was definitely enough. Combined with his apparition and a notice-me-not charm, he was practically a cheat-code for winning the war.

Looks like it was time do so once more.

* * *

A/N: If it was bad, then please tell me, some advice would be well-appreciated. I proof-read twice, but there's always bound to be mistakes, apologies if you come across one.


	3. The Bastard

**G.O.W**

 **Disclaimer:** Everything except the divergent Plot Line and a few O/C's belong to G.R.R Martin.

* * *

The slowly dimming rays of sunshine peeking through his windows was what alerted Orys that maybe his meditating session had gone on for far longer than he anticipated. Taking a break from his little jaunt into his own mind, the Prince quickly stretched, trying to get the kinks out of his muscles and bones.

Three months had passed since the beginnings of what would come to be known as Greyjoy's Rebellion. The Red Keep had lost much of it's usually present sense of joy and luster. It's occupants found themselves in low-spirits. Most of them were old enough to remember Robert's Rebellion, and were present when Tywin Lannister's forces sacked this very city merely nine-years ago, they did not enjoy war, the thought of it having a chance to enter the City Gates seemed to suck the life right out of them.

But Orys was glad for it, since the current state of the Red Keep made it perfect for him to Practice his magic. Although he mostly did the more... subtle and technical spells in chambers, the secret tunnels were reserved for the more destructive kind. The air down there although was stifling, the bones of long dead Dragons still giving off magic.

The Art of Legillimency, or Mind-reading as he simply liked to call it was frustratingly eluding him. Trying to practice that particular magic was like trying to catch air in his palms. Every now and then he would make a slight breakthrough, but at the rate he was going, it was going to take decades to truly master the art. And having Snape for a teacher before didn't really help things, god Orys hated that cunt.

Donning on a rather plain brown cloak. Orys cast an overpowered notice-me-not charm with the snap of his fingers. He quickly slipped out of his room, tip-toeing so as not to alert Ser Meryn to his escape. Orys slowly made his way through the halls, dodging the stray unknowing servants. Quickly reaching the entrance, the boy Prince found his way into the City of King's Landing.

Truthfully, Orys hated it. The unforgiving smell, the poverty, the over-abundance of bars and whorehouses repulsed him. He was going to change it, all of it. His head was already swimming with plans to build schools, theaters, bath-houses and orphanages.

What were the previous Kings thinking? How could let their own capital fall to such depravity would always baffle him. Then again, it was the Targaryens who held the throne for three centuries. He thought about how arrogant were the so called 'Dragons of Old Valyria.'

'Dragons my arse' he thought, imagining a family of Malfoys with purple eyes. He shuddered violently as the image seared into his brain. Orys was plenty confident he could take a dragon or two if he got serious and was armed with Firebolt. The extraordinary power-up he got from reincarnation may even let him kill them, not without scratches of course.

Although he didn't exactly share his father's all-consuming hatred for the deposed monarchs, Orys knew if he ever laid eyes on Rhaegar, he would compile every single trick learned from Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort himself to personally see to it that the so called Last Dragon would experience a pain so dreadful the Maesters would have to come up with a whole new word for the resulting condition of his corpse.

Unfortunately, the cunt was dead. So that was that.

Steps taking him to the street of steel, Orys slowly made his way to the largest house in the area. The large timber and plastic construct belonged to one Tobho Mott. Orys had requested a sword to be made for him some weeks ago through raven and was planning to check on the progress. As he ventured closer to the blacksmith, a sense of familiarity hit him. Frowning at what it could be, the Boy-Prince hasten his steps, eager to see his new sword, and the source of this feeling.

He stopped to admire the hand-carved double weirwood doors before entering. The first thing he noticed was the stifling heat, and a curious looking boy, who eerily resembled him.

"Who are you?" the boy simply asked, moving closer to greet him.

Orys' face slowly morphed into a slight frown as he observed the boy closely. His hair was so dark it seemed to absorb the flickers of light coming from the fireplace. He was dirty and ruffled, hair sticking up everywhere. But what caught the Prince's attention was his eyes. They were a beautiful shade of blue, a blue that he found only Baratheons possessed.

"Baratheon... Orys Baratheon, and you are?" he asked politely, smiling to ease the shorter boy who looked incredibly panicked at the realization that the Crown Prince himself was standing before him. The shorter boy, woefully ignorant about etiquette simply fell to his knees and bowed awkwardly, his head touching the ground as if in prayer.

"G-gendry m'lord." he muttered, body still stuck in the uncomfortable posture.

'A waters I'll bet, but who's? Dad's?' he thought. The King was usually a patron of Littlefinger's most premium whorehouses once every few months, when he was feeling particularly drunk or depressed. Renly was far away in Storm's End... come to think of it, didn't he have a brother there? Yes... it was Edric Storm, son of a Florent woman if he wasn't wrong; Stannis had the personality of a wall, he would never cheat on his wife, no the man was too honorable for that.

There was Mya Stone too...his sister in the Vale. Orys cursed his own stupidity. He knew that they would be in a considerable amount of danger if they were in King's Landing but they were still his siblings. He should have made an effort to reach out, somehow.

He once overheard his father's fight with Cersei before, when Robert wanted to bring Mya to King's Landing so that Orys could meet his sister, the Queen had all but threatened to harm her. Orys' fingers twitched with the red light of the cruciatus but he found restrain at the end.

But this one... this Gendry was right here in King's Landing all this while, right under their noses. He didn't really think much of his dad's visits to whorehouses. This was a different world, with a different era. And truth be told, no matter how breathtaking his step-mother was, the woman was unbearable. Orys assumed his dad was three drinks close to death by alcohol poisoning to even humor the thought of bedding the woman.

"Please, stand up...Gendry." he said softly, hands grabbing the young lad's shoulder and lifting him up easily. The boy looked up, staring right at him with those bright blue eyes... Orys couldn't resist. Months of practice did little to help, but this time, he knew it would somehow work. He dived into the boy's mind with a whisper of 'Legillimens'.

Suddenly he was thrown into a small wooden house. Orys quickly scanned his surroundings, surprised to see that he wasn't far from where Tobho Mott's shop was supposed to be. The view from the window suggested they were in Flea's bottom, the smell confirmed it. Orys was baffled, usually only masters could do that. Maybe it was his and Gendry's connection that allowed him to do so?

"There there...mommy's here.." a soft and positively angelic voice cooed. Her calming words slowly dissolving into a soft hum that did wonders for the listening ear. Orys turned around and was met with a gorgeous blonde haired woman. She bore quite the resemblance to young Gendry, like the shape of her eyes and the curvature of the nose. Her dark brown eyes shone with pure unadulterated love as she her hums slowly increased in volume, suddenly shaping itself into a beautiful song.

Then, as fast as the memory came, it dissipated. Once again Orys found himself stuck in eye-contact with the same blue eyes, so much like himself. This boy really was his brother! Orys opened his mouth to say more but was cut off rudely.

"What's going on here?" a rough weathered voice questioned harshly as he barreled out of a door far off to the side. Gendry jumped three-foot in the air, quickly turning to face the new entrant.

"Ahh Master Mott, I was wondering if my order was completed?" Orys spoke just as the man opened his mouth.

The blacksmith was astounded that the Crown Prince was here, in his shop completely alone at this time without his ever-present guards. The old smith was garbed in a black velvet coat which had silver hammers embroidered on the sleeves. A large sapphire hung on a heavy silver chain about his neck, his face could be compared to worn leather, it's skin stretching around his face, plastered with a dark unruly beard.

"My Prince! What a pleasant surprise!" the man sputtered, quickly bowing and moving to usher the Prince to a more proper setting. Orys merely waved him off and took a seat on the nearest chair he could find. The blacksmith looked on in scandalized horror and the other boy in confusion.

"Your blade will be ready in a few days I'm afraid, I've been overseeing the project myself and I assure you Prince Orys you will only receive it in perfect condition." the man promised vehemently. He turned to Gendry, frowning at the dumbfounded child and was going to dismiss him but was interrupted.

"No wait, the boy Master Mott, where did you find him?" the prince questioned. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly as the famed blacksmith's posture screamed of nervousness all of a sudden.

"Well...I uh-...there was a man you see..he was covered from head to toe. He came one day with the boy and paid double the amount to apprentice him, I didn't see anything wrong with the arrangement and..." he trailed off, eyeing said boy who looked uncomfortable with the attention.

"And? How is he?" Orys continued, fingers tapping on the barrel he sat himself on. Tobho Mott looked confused, probably wondering why the Crown Prince himself was asking questions about a low-born child.

"Well, he is talented. The best I have ever seen in decades, the boy has strong hands, I daresay they were made for hammers, he has keen eyes as well. I would have taken him on without the fee I tell you." the man praised, uncaring of the boy's red face, much to the Prince's amusement.

'Made for Hammers eh? I say he was made for more...so much more...' Orys thought, a sad smile engulfing his face at the thought of what he should and what he couldn't do.

"The day he turns Thirteen, send him to the Red Keep, I'll see to it Ser Barristan himself will teach Gendry here how to fight." Orys declared, to the shock of the other two occupants.

'It's all I can do for now.'

The Blacksmith moved to speak, but Gendry beat him to it.

"B-but why!? I...I'm just a nobody, a bastard!" he questioned loudly, mouth opened and wide-eyed. Gendry was absolutely baffled, three more inches and his jaw would be kissing the floor.

'No you're not kid, you're my brother.'

"Why? Well, no reason I guess... maybe I just like you? Don't worry about it Gendry. I'm sure you'll do great." Orys placated the almost-hysterical child.

'You'll be more than that, you'll be a Prince, just like Joff.'

Tobho Mott quickly silenced the boy with a look and turned to the Prince, a look of steel in his eyes. Orys was pleasantly surprised, It looked like the man had a backbone to him after all.

"Prince Orys...with respect, Gendry is my responsibility... and if I deem it too-"

"Do not worry Master Mott, Gendry will be taken care of, I promise. I'll make sure he will be treated like a Prince of the realm."

'Just as he should be...'

"Alright then, if that's all...?" he trailed off, ruffling Gendry's hair a bit.

"Goodnight Master Mott, Gendry. I can't wait to have you with us, I'll see you in a few years!" Orys said, jumping out of his seat and patting the boy across the back hard, sending him stumbling. The Crown Prince strode out with purpose, leaving a his younger brother standing there dumbfounded.

As he stepped outside the weirwood doors, Orys could only think of his bastard siblings scattered throughout the realm. He knew his father was quite the...womanizer before he married his mother. After her death, the number of women he bedded had dwindled a great deal, but still, most people didn't have access to Moon Tea.

'I'm just a child with barely-passable sixth-year magic. With no real power a court, no followers, no spies, no allies...nothing. But that will change...I promise. Give me time, I promise I'll find all of you, we'll all be together. Gendry, Mya and Edric, and god-knows how many more of you, I'll take care of all of you, I promise...'

* * *

A/N: Looks like he's planning to bring Robert's Bastards together and unite them. Let's just hope this won't be another case of the Great Bastards and the Blackfyres shall we?


	4. The Problem with Joffrey

The God of War

* * *

A beautiful day made itself known as the Sun rose into the sky from the east, it's rays shining across the lands and bathing the newly awoken citizens of the Seven Kingdoms in it's warm-

"What the fuck!?"

...warm light.

"You little jackass, stop that!" Orys yelled at his little four namedays old brother, who was currently trying to stab fifty holes into a poor cat with a fork. The Crown Prince was making his way to the training grounds to get used to his new blade, when he came upon the child, accompanied by Meryn Trant who just _stood_ there. Orys' eyes widened like saucers as he spotted his brother's violent tendencies. The Prince dashed forwards to grab the fork out of his tiny hands and proceeded to give him a an epic scolding.

"What where you thinking? Letting him do that? Do you have shit for brains Trant!?" he roared at the Kingsguard, whom had the gall to looked offended. The Annointed Knight step forwards to explain himself when he spotted one of the few men who were actually bigger than him in the Red Keep.

Sandor Clegane came upon them, putting two and two together quickly as he spotted the tear filled eyes of the second prince, the angered look in the Crown Prince's eyes and the bloodied fork, accompanied by a mewling wounded cat. The Hound was making his way toward the training yards to have his daily sparring session with Orys but merely stopped to observe the commotion, standing behind the older Baratheon.

Orys knew it wasn't Joff's fault, not really. He knew that some people were well; just... born that way. What his brother needed was a firm hand and constant guidance. Something which was almost impossible considering his father didn't care to even look at his other child and with Cersei absolutely coddling him so much it wasn't even funny anymore. People like Trant only made it worse, no, it was up to Orys to raise his brother by himself. Not even Jaime seemed to not give two shits about his nephew. The man simply didn't have it in him to deal with toddlers and babies.

"Well Trant? Open your fucking mouth and tell me why you were just standing there still as a statue?" he asked again, throwing the fork aside, leaving in clattering on the floor, scaring Joffrey further and making the cat jump; the feline finally decided it had enough of the humans and slink away quickly, leaving a blood trail.

It seemed the Kingsguard did not appreciate being dressed down by child, even if it was the future King. His nostrils flared, his stance was suddenly stiff and his eyes widened slightly in anger as he took a step forward Knight opened his mouth to retort but was immediately cut off.

"You frowning at me? Are you actually fucking frowning at me you cunt? You think you have the right to be angry? Listen here fuckface, you so much as twitch your nose at me again and Clegane will start removing heads from shoulders, understand?"

Well he really wouldn't, but a bit of scare tactics should put Trant in his place.

Immediately a the sound of a heavy sword leaving it's sheathe screeched out; Ser Meryn's eyes was immediately glued to the snarling Clegane, who's eyes glinted in malevolence as he stood ready to cut him down.

"From now on I don't want you guarding my brother. If Cersei bitches about it you tell her to come to me, I don't care what fucking Jaime says, tell Ser Barristan the same thing too. I see you near Joff again and my friend here will personally see you to the gates of hell." he sneered.

Not giving the shocked Kingsuard a chance to reply, Orys proceeded to dismiss him with a 'fuck off!' and a wave of the hand. The sputtering Knight looked like he wanted to argue but quickly averted his eyes, unwilling to test the Prince's patience. He swiftly acquiesced to the Prince's command and promptly 'Fucked off'.

Orys turned his attention to his little brother then, who's knees where knocking against one another as his brother's furious eyes turned on him. The little boy, who was dressed handsomely in a tiny doublet meshed with Lannister colors immediately launched himself into his brother's waist, sobbing as he did.

Orys' eyebrow raised imperceptibly, looks like Cersei's influence hadn't really taken over her son just yet. Orys turned to nod at the Hound, thanking him for his presence before turning back to deal with the little golden lion who was currently plastered to his middle.

"Why are you crying little Lion?" he cooed as he stroke the boy's silky locks. Orys knew anger wasn't the way to go about this, it would only push him away. But he couldn't coddle the boy either like his mother did. Joff needed to learn what he did was wrong, and that being a Prince did not meant he could go about doing whatever he liked. Orys snorted, okay that felt a bit hypocritical, since Orys was well known for doing exactly that, whatever he liked.

"C-cause Ory is a-angwy..." the boy sniffed, hugging Orys tighter. With a jerk of his head, Orys dismissed the Hound, who looked all too eager to make himself scarce. Bringing the boy aside, Orys knelt down and with a finger, gently pushed the child's chin up so they made eye contact.

"Do you know why?" he simply asked. A part of him felt guilty, after all the boy was only three, going on four. But he told himself it was necessary, even if he had to beat empathy into the boy's head.

Joffrey only managed a hiccup and a squeak of 'no'.

Orys sighed deeply, he wiped the boy's chubby cheeks of tears, and gently ruffled his hair.

"Why did you stab the cat Joff?" he questioned. Joffery's eyes widened, as if in shock. It looked like he did not expect that it was because of _that_ his brother was angry.

"I w-wanted to s-see the baby k-kitty!" Joff stammered, his not so innocent face scrunched into a frown.

'oh fuck me.' Orys thought. _That_ was what he wanted to do!? Open up the pregnant cat to see the babies? That was just...messed up.

"But what about the cat little lion? It would have died right?" Orys nudged, wanting to see what the boy's mind came up with.

"Y-yes?" he answered uncertainly.

"And the baby too yes?" he continued, forcing his voice to remain warm and inviting. Joff nodded his little head, golden curls splaying about his head. Orys if he was honest with himself, was at a loss. Normally the psychos he encountered were usually the ones lobbing Killing Curses at him; and he had no qualms about shooting them full of lightning. This was new territory.

Reaching out with a hand, Orys pinched the child's arm, not so hard as to mark him, but enough to really hurt. Joff squealed and tried to slap his hand away weakly. Pain and betrayal filled the child's eyes as he stared as his brother in confusion.

"That hurt did it not?" Orys asked him. The blond prince managed another nod, his attention half-focused on his throbbing arm.

"What if I were to stab you with a fork, just like you did to the cat? Just to see what was inside?" he questioned again. Joffrey looked confused, and when he voiced it out, Orys seized the opportunity to turn his situation around.

"No! Bad Orys! It hurts!"

"Yes, so why'd you do it to the cat?"

The child look stumped, as if Orys had just dropped the most important clue to the greatest treasure in the universe on his little head.

"I...I...- I don't..know." he mumbled out, looking as guilty as a child of his age could be.

"Why did you think I was angry?"

"Because... I was bad?" the boy frowned, trying his best to understand. Orys smiled, no doubt his brother would forget this incident in a few weeks, but it was a start. If his own father and Cersei were too busy being a bunch of Jackasses to raise Joff properly, than Orys would do it himself.

'I hope my father's bastards aren't as hard to deal with.' he groaned internally. He couldn't imagine ten black-haired Joffreys running around making a fool of themselves and stabbing pregnant cats.

"Yes because you were bad little lion, and you were committing a crime! When I'm King stabbing animals will be against the law, you wouldn't want to end up in jail now would you?" he raised his voice a little. Orys thought that a little bit of flair usually help when it came to dealing with little children.

Joffrey shook his head again, his bottom lip trembling.

"Do you promise to be a good boy then?" he continued, widening his eyes a little to add on.

"Yes!" he squeaked out.

"Good, keep it up and maybe one day you'll be Hand of the King." he promised, wiggling his eyebrows as his brother ooed and ahh'ed.

"Ah Peter, glad to see you. Escort the Prince to his lessons will you? I'm sure Pycelle is missing his most brilliant student." he said, patting Joff on his little behind, getting the child to move ahead. Sensing a familiar presence behind him, Orys turned around to address his visitor.

"Quite the show my Prince.." a silky smooth feminine voice called out from behind. Orys was unsurprised to see the Spider himself standing before him. The Cockless wonder must be frustrated that he was the only whom he couldn't sneak up on.

"I wonder when you'll stop trying?" he scolded the man lightly, receiving a demure smile in return.

"Apologies Your Grace, but I came to tell you that I've made the necessary arrangements already. Although I must say, bringing the whole lot of them here will enrage quite the number of nobles." the Eunuch informed him.

"Lannisters you mean." Orys replied. Clicking his tongue, Orys bid the eunuch to follow him as he continued walking towards his destination.

"Quite right, I'm sure you knew of the King's plans to bring young Mya over to King's Landing for you. The Queen protested then and I'm sure she'll do the same, especially if you requested it." the words flew out of Varys' lips like song.

"True, but that's all she would dare to do. The woman will bitch and moan but I doubt she has the steel to truly attempt anything." the Prince replied.

"Forgive me Prince Orys, but I doubt that very much." Varys said, amusement clearly taking over his effeminate features.

"You also talk too much spider." Varys bowed his head in apology, before waiting for Orys to continue.

"Tell me my lord, when you look at this Kingdom, when you truly observe it in all your spymaster's glory and expertise, what do you see?" he asked, after a few moments of pondering.

If Varys looked surprised by the question, he didn't show it. The man gave a small smile in return, mulling the words in his head, as the two walked in silence. Orys didn't mind, not really. He wanted the man to take his time, it was after all quite open to interpretation. When the pair finally arrived at the training grounds, Orys looked over to the spider once more, curious at what he'd come up with.

Varys hummed for a moment before smiling again.

"I see immense potential my prince. For once in this Kingdom's three hundred year old lifetime, it has been truly unified. Without the inteference of the Targaryens and their dragons, ruining the Seven Kingdoms with each successor, the Baratheon dynasty can finally bring the continent into a new age, one of paradise." he said.

It was quite the speech in Orys's opinion, he was just a bit impressed at the man's skill to weave words and sentences together that pleased the listening ear. His favorite part was the Baratheons bringing the continent into a 'new age'. Orys almost burst out in laughter. No matter how much the cockless wonder thought to be the greatest spy, eye contact was all Orys needed to determine the truth.

The Prince turned around to stare the spymaster dead in the eye, his rapidly growing height almost matching the spymaster's own.

"Very good Varys, but you're lying."

As shit as his mind magicks was, even he knew when someone was bluffing, no one could escape his all-seeing eyes. He didn't know what secrets Varys was keeping but it appeared the Orys had no need dig around for now, but he promised himself he would have the truth, either by Legillimency or by Cruciatus.

Varys' face twitched a little, which Orys thought must have been the equivalent of the man frowning. Orys moved closer into the man's personal space, mildly impressed yet again that the Varys' only reaction was that of a raised eyebrow.

"One wrong move my friend and you'll find yourself in the bottom of the sea...tread lightly will you?" he whispered patting the man's shoulder before turning around to leave, leaving the Spymaster in his own torrent of thoughts.

* * *

 ** _End_**


End file.
